


I'll Be Your Mirror

by Li Prouvaire (LiProuvaire)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Multi, Pining Enjolras, Polyamory, Triad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiProuvaire/pseuds/Li%20Prouvaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Enjolras couldn’t speak, and one time he didn’t have to</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Your Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrymidon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrymidon/gifts).



> Writter for esregs in the Les Mis Holiday Eschange 2015, hope you like it!  
> My endless thanks to my lovely beta and cheerleader, jehanfleur

Five times Enjolras couldn’t speak, and one time he didn’t have to

  
  


1.

They kissed. It was an innocent thing, a soft brush of Combeferre’s lips over Grantaire’s cheek, but when he saw it, his brain stopped working for a split second. He had no illusions of being especially keen eyed for the romantic inner workings of his friends’ minds, but he was no fool, and the display of affection was surprising, to put it quite mildly. Combeferre and Grantaire? Surely not.

The semester had just begun, and everyone returned to the weekly meetings at the Musain with a summery glow, maybe a different hair colour, even a tattoo, in Jehan’s case but this was a bit too much wasn’t it? How much could have changed over the summer that he didn’t know Combeferre and Grantaire had become entwined? His heart clenched, a small pang of hurt as he realised his best friend hadn’t thought of informing him.

“...Enjolras?” Courfeyrac’s voice startled him, and he realised he’d stopped in the middle of his speech, and his friends were looking at him expectantly. He had to look down at his notes, his train of thought frantically trying to piece itself together.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat, extremely aware of the embarrassed flush of his cheeks. “As I was saying, after this period of seasonal group inactivity, we must return in full force. We may have personal issues, but injustice and inequality waits for no man, nor do the lives of those afflicted by them, and we must tackle these issues with more ruthlessness than ever. Next week, I expect proposals from each person in the group for how we can start fighting the issues we discussed today, and where we will direct these efforts. Campaigns, community action, petitions, protests, anything is welcome.” he let his shoulders slump in relief when Courfeyrac took over, officially ending the meeting.

“See you all next week, and don’t forget friday’s dinner party at our place! Be there or be square.”

 

2.

Since the beginning of the semester, Grantaire had become a regular presence in the apartment, coming for dinner or movie nights and inevitably staying the night. Now there were packs of cigarettes on the window sills, bathroom queues, a constant stock of pumpkin jam in the fridge, hectic breakfasts and chips on the saucers. That evening, Combeferre and Grantaire had decided to cook, which entailed a run to the supermarket before it closed. Combeferre had wrapped one of his woolen scarves around Grantaire’s neck, protecting him from the harsh winds, but the shorter man had blushed, and Enjolras suddenly felt like he was intruding, even though it was the most mundane of moments, in the middle of his living room. Combeferre’s smile was heartwarming as he’d leaned over and kissed Grantaire’s brow, and Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to return his attention to the half-written speech in front of him quite yet, his mind reeling.

“Grantaire has been spending a lot of time here.” Enjolras said as soon as the door closed behind them.

Courfeyrac looked up from where sat across from him, sprawled on the dark green armchair with a heavy book on his lap.

“Well, yeah, I suppose? Not really a surprise, what with our best friend’s romantic entrepreneurship.” he chuckled, and started absent-mindedly biting on the end of the pencil he was using. “Why, though, does it bother you?”

“No!” the word rushed out of his mouth an instant too quickly. “No, nothing of the sort. I have nothing against Combeferre and Grantaire’s relationship and I’m honestly overjoyed that Combeferre is so happy. It’s just…” He began talking, leaning his chin against his hand, but a wave of uncertainty overwhelmed him. He had nothing against Combeferre’s happiness, or Grantaire’s increasing presence in his personal space, but something stirred him uncomfortably when he watched them.

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, beckoning him to continue, but he shook his head dismissively.

“Never mind, do you want coffee?”

 

3.

Enjolras barely had time to smile amusedly at the plate he was taking to the kitchen, empty but for a couple of tiny crumbs of the pancakes Courfeyrac had all but devoured, before it escaped his hands. His body froze at the threshold, but his eyes frantically drunk in every detail of the picture before him, darting through their bodies with a will of their own. It was art as Enjolras had never seen before. Grantaire’s bony knuckles clutching to Combeferre’s t-shirt, pulling it down and displaying a golden brown collarbone. Combeferre’s lashes almost glowing in the early morning light, and casting long shadows down his flushed cheeks. Grantaire’s curls like a messy halo, disturbed by Combeferre’s hands that pulled his boyfriend gently and passionately towards him and this embrace, this kiss.

Something startled them and broke them apart, and Enjolras noted distantly that plates, when they fall, tend to crash, and when they crash they tend to break, and he would have done anything to change these laws of the universe and the dryness in his throat and the look in his angels’ eyes when they turned towards the tumult and Enjolras’ inevitably flustered face.

“Holy fuc-”

“Oh gods, Enjolras, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Combeferre’s eyes were suddenly staring into his, too close, and he only managed to nod incoherently before kneeling down to pick up the pieces of ceramic from the floor. He told himself the unsteadiness in his heart was only because of the fright, but after that day, it never left.

 

4.

It was a late night at the Musain, so late that the only people insane enough to still be there were Jehan and Enjolras, both with their noses deep in their books and steaming mugs of coffee in their hands. A long, tragic sigh left Jehan’s lips as they turned to their companion.

“I think a snack break is in order. Scone?”

“Wow, awfully bourgeois of you.” Enjolras chuckled. “But sure. Do they serve scones this late, though?”

“I have connections, my friend.”

Fifteen minutes and a whispered exchange with the waitress later, they had a plate of warm scones and jams in front of them, ready for the carnage. There was warmth all around him - food, friendship, comfort - and yet Enjolras couldn’t help but notice the small unidentifiable stir in his chest. Something felt wrong, unfinished, trembling and ready to pounce at his heart. Whether its purpose was to maim him or to heal him, though, that was a mystery.

“Something is wrong.” Jehan proclaimed, staring unnervingly into Enjolras’ eyes.

“What do you mean, Jehan?”

“Something is the matter with you. With your heart, I’d wager. Tell me about it.”

“Oh no, not at all, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Don’t take me for a fool, young man”

Enjolras laughed softly “You’re younger than me.”

“Irrelevant.” they said flippantly, before their expression shed all of its dramatics and their eyes gazed into their friend’s soul, grasping at his vulnerability like a physical hook. “What’s wrong, Enjolras?”

Enjolras sighed and leaned back on his armchair, leaning his face against his hand. “I honestly don’t know.”

“You seem… downtrodden. Though if I had to guess, which of course I do, it’s my stoic leader we’re discussing, that subjugation of being is no-one’s fault but your own.” At Enjolras’ raised eyebrows, they raised their daintily decorated hands, stopping his words before they tumbled out. “You have incredible speech and logic skills, but those pertain only to your academic needs. When it comes to your deepest feelings, you rely on the raw emotion to lead you, and you don’t give yourself the time or thought to understand it. That makes it very difficult when your feelings are more complex. You are your own barrier. But nevermind that, talk to me and I’ll try to help, yes?”

Enjolras took a sip of his coffee, taking a moment to breathe in Jehan’s words. “I just can’t put my finger on it. I’m having the oddest feelings about Grantaire and Combeferre, and it’s disquieting.”

“Their relationship bothers you?”

“No… Well, yes?”

“Yes?”

“It doesn’t bother me in a bad way. It stirs me. I find myself distracted by them whenever one of them is around, it’s the most disquieting thing.”

“Distracted?”

“Combeferre has been my best friend for years, but now I see something else in him… And Grantaire, though he is a pain when arguing, he has this whole other side I’d never seen. They’re mesmerizing. And I don’t know, they make my chest feel hollow and full at the same time. Am I making any sense to you?”

“Oh, my heart, I hate to break it to you, but I think the word you’re looking for might be love.” Enjolras lifted his eyes to Jehan’s, speechless, the horror of their words written across his face. “Yeah, you’re fucked, my friend.”

  
  
  


5.

Enjolras stared at the retreating figure of Courfeyrac and felt his heart race as he realised the meaning of his absence. He’d have to be alone with the objects of his affection. Of course, there were available escape routes. Technically, he could excuse himself to his bedroom under a false pretense, drown his feelings in his books, but that would not only be suspicious and lead to further prodding from them, but also extremely rude. It was movie night, and therefore he had to be present at the couch. It was the house’s rule, and he stood by it. He was a man of bravery and strength, he could do this.

“Crap, I hope Jehan is okay.” Ferre mused as he inserted Grantaire’s choice for the night’s movie, a norwegian thing promising crime and angst that Enjolras was honestly a bit hesitant to watch.

“Well, Courf will be around, that always helps. He’s a soothing force to have a round when the monsters of your mind are out to get you.” Grantaire replied.

Combeferre smiled softly, a small and bittersweet but hopeful thing and looked up at Enjolras. “Well, since it’s just us, shall we start the movie?”

Enjolras damned himself for his feelings, not for the first time. His best friend was asking him a simple question and his heart was racing in his ears.

“Hm, yes, absolutely.”

Enjolras took a blanket from the a pile in the armchair and wrapped himself in it before sitting on the end of the couch with his back to the armrest, the furthest possible from Combeferre and Grantaire’s usual corner on the other end. Despite his most cunning planning, though, the men sat exactly in the middle of the couch, making Enjolras’ feet almost brush against Combeferre’s thigh, and restarting the rush of blood to his cheeks. This being in love thing was doing wonders for his circulation, apparently.

Grantaire turned off the lights and started the movie before draping his legs over Combeferre’s lap, letting his ankles brush against Enjolras’ legs. In the darkness, the unrest that now overcame him whenever he was in their presence turned into a state of tranquil pliance, taking in the completely different but so complementary presences of the two young men and drinking them in.

Who’d have known, he wondered, that these would be the people his love would choose. They both had the most exquisite of minds, an unwavering loyalty, a private tenderness. He could probably write whole books about the beauty of his loves, and then feel forever ashamed of the utter cheesiness of it all.

He sighed. Combeferre noticed, and took his hand, pulling him over as he’d done so many times before. He knew physical contact was something Enjolras craved when he was feeling down, and Enjolras had better sense than to think his best friend hadn’t noticed his honestly morose behaviour lately. But this was different. This time, when Enjolras leaned on Combeferre’s shoulder, his hand didn’t leave his.

The comfort enveloped him in ways a blanket never could aspire to, and he found himself wishing the movie and the night to be endless.

 

6.

When morning crept in through the windows, the three men were still draped over eachother, drifting between stages of consciousness while hands softly ran over hair and arms, sleepily caressing. Grantaire, who had been letting out small snores for the last five minutes, stirred and slowly opened his eyes, frowning. “Who turned on the lights?”

Enjolras smiled and leaned his head away from Combeferre’s shoulder to look at the disheveled artist. Leaning his chin on his fist, he looked more like a marble statue than ever before, yet more alive than ever, his eyes alive in adoring mirth. “That’s the dawn, Grantaire.”

“Oh… wow.” Grantaire’s eyes were now fully awake, and they stared.

Enjolras swallowed dryly, the weight of Grantaire’s eyes on him making him undeniably flustered, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Combeferre’s hand appeared on his shoulder and he looked from one angel to another.

“Enjolras, I’d hate to be reading what I wish to read on your face, instead of what’s truly there, but maybe…” Combeferre exchanged a glance with Grantaire. “...maybe you feel the same that we do.”

“Feel…?” Enjolras breathed.

“We’re in love with you. Together and separately, we love you.” Grantaire’s voice came in a mix of frustration and ardour. “Adore you. Romantically. And sexually, I’d even add. We’ve discussed it and made idea entwine with logic and theory and speculation, but the feeling stands, and so does its foundation.That we’d like to have not just our current arrangement as a couple, tough if you do not accept, that’s perfectly alright and things will obviously continue in a friendly and respectful manner, all this behind us, though I’d admit some sadness at the prospect. You might feel the same towards only one of us, too, which is truly my bet, since you and I haven’t the intimacy you’ve always shared with Combeferre, and we know he’s a man of many charms-”

“R, my love...” Combeferre interrupted him before he could spiral into self-deprecation. Grantaire sighed knowingly, a touch of tenderness in his breath, before continuing.

“In summary, how would you feel about being in a relationship with us?”

“You don’t have to answer right now.” Combeferre added hastily.

“Oh, I’d like an answer, to be honest.” Grantaire countered.

They were silenced by Enjolras’ hand, that shot up in front of their faces. He stared incredulously at them, his lips barely open as words tried but failed to form.

“Enjolras?”’ Combeferre murmured.

He nodded fervently, and took their hands in his before looking at them and smiling, trying to convey all that he felt in those small gestures, trying to make them see what he saw.

“Are you sure?” asked Grantaire, his eyebrows furrowing. Enjolras huffed, an exasperated and tender little thing, and leaned to press his lips against Grantaire’s. His consciousness faded away and suddenly the world was only a haze of light and Grantaire’s touches and Combeferre’s lips and the warmth of the flush in his cheeks. When they pulled away for breath, a small overjoyed chuckle left Grantaire as he looked to Combeferre, who took his hand, kissing each knuckle reverently. The thought that this was truly happening blossomed on all of their minds and they laughed with him, kissing eachother’s cheeks, noses and lips. Enjolras finally turned to gaze into Grantaire’s grey eyes.

“Don’t be daft, R, I love you both.”

 

 


End file.
